


trust me

by cloverblob



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 16:39:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6761851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloverblob/pseuds/cloverblob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sameen Shaw does not have a way with words, but Root has a way with Sameen Shaw and she could write novels with the meaning she plucks from between her silences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	trust me

She doesn't sleep--not that first night back, with one arm tucked under her pillow, the other gripping her gun so tightly her palm turns white. She doesn't have the strength to keep her eyes open, but she cannot sleep. She stares at the backs of her own eyelids, the sounds of the subway ringing in her ears. Her hyperawareness tortures her; the dripping sounds of an old sink, the rushing water in the pipes above them, the quiet hum of the electricity fed through the subway car, they're driving her to frustration.

The only steady, rhythmic sound is the breathing of the woman lying beside her. Root is asleep, belly-down, huddled into Shaw's side. She seems peaceful at a glance, with her legs tucked and curled upward under the light blanket they share, but Shaw alone can feel the tightness of Root's grip on her shirt. Even asleep, Root is holding onto her for dear life.

Shaw has never shared a bed with another before. Not like this. Not that Root gave her much of a choice. Not that she was complaining.

Shaw felt like she was floating. Disassociation is what she would classify it as, medically. She had been doing it on purpose for months now, disassociating to escape trauma as a defense mechanism. Shaw had decided long ago she would approach her capture with a clinical eye. After all, she had the unique experience of being a sociopath--maybe she could even write a paper about it: "Personality Disorders and PTSD: My Life As An Evil Robot's Plaything".

She had expressed this to Root not more than two hours ago, only to receive a scowl and a "this isn't a joke, Sameen."

Shaw had sighed and muttered a reluctant apology under breath. Not that she thought she had anything to apologize for, of course. She just wanted to get laid.

Except that wasn't quite what she had wanted at all, if she were being completely honest. She wanted to reconnect. The lithe hand gripping her shirt was a tether; _Root_ was a tether, capable of bridging the gap Shaw had created between herself and the world and she knew then that no one else in this world would be capable of handling her weight.

The feeling of crashing lips, the kneading of fingers on skin, the tickle of Root's breath upon her neck--Shaw was a loose wire and Root was the tape that wrapped itself around her and connected every tangled fray. For just a moment, in the bliss of completion, Shaw could pretend that Root had fixed her, that their intimacy would wipe the trauma from her mind, heal the scars from her chest, and remove the exhaustion from her eyes. But there was no fix, and no miracle cure, there was only Shaw and Root and a warm bed where they could pretend.

When Root awakens, she runs a thumb along Shaw's sharp cheekbone--checking to make sure she's really there. Shaw doesn't pretend to be asleep, she turns to look down at Root with bloodshot eyes and heavy lids.

"Go back to sleep," Shaw whispers. She craves the easy sound of Root's heavy breathing, the rhythm set by the rise and fall of her chest.

Root hums defiantly in response, her small voice barely carrying across the room. It isn't much of a response at all, but Shaw is acutely able to decipher the enigma that used to be called Samantha Groves and shifts to place her hand atop the paler one hooked into her shirt.

"I'm not going anywhere," Shaw promises, her voice steady. Shaw does not know gentle comfort, she knows protection and care in the form of guns and fist fights but never in smiles and kisses. But tonight, she smiles and kisses the forehead of the woman wrapped around her and pretends that maybe she could know all sorts of things she never did before.

"I'll sleep when you do," Root replies, though the heaviness in her voice betrays her.

Shaw sighs dramatically, letting go of her pistol, and proceeds to cover Root's eyes with the palm of her hand. Root's giggly protests are no match for Shaw who holds her in place despite Root's fit of laughter.

"I'm already half-deaf, Sameen," Root exclaims, squirming beneath Shaw's hold. "You can't blind me too."

"I'm helping you sleep," Shaw explains, her tone is unrelenting but Root can easily detect the playfulness in her gruff voice.

Root finally manages to grasp and push Shaw's hand away, holding it down against her chest for good measure.

Glancing down, Shaw catches Root watching her with a stare so intense that she finds herself physically incapable of holding her gaze. Sometimes she thinks Root's affection might just drown her, that her love might fill Shaw up and overwhelm her completely.

Root lets out a breath, her eyes scanning the dark crevices beneath Shaw's sleepless eyes. The thinness of her face, the hollows of her cheeks, they prompt a million questions in Root's mind, questions to which she is sure she does not want the answers. But she has never been very good at stopping the words that come out of her mouth.

"What did they do to you?" she says, her voice little more than a whisper. She doesn't want to hear any of it, but she thinks maybe there is a chance her imagination is far worse than reality.

Shaw swallows, turns her head away. "You don't want to know." _I don't want you to know._

She doesn't always fully grasp the concept of empathy, but the water that pools in Root's eyes makes her uncomfortable in ways she has definitely felt before.

"Root..." she starts, carefully selecting the words that won't cause those tears to fall. But it's a task easier said than done for Shaw, who has never been able to understand tears, much less what prompts them. "It was bad," she doesn't want to lie. "But nothing I couldn't handle."

Root nods as though she were satisfied, but Shaw can feel the doubt emanating off the tips of the shaky fingers that hold hers down. Root's silence says far more than her words ever did.

Shaw hesitates. She thinks she doesn't want to hear Root's questions, doesn't want Root to voice her concerns, and she certainly does not want to share her demons. After all, Sameen doesn't fully grasp empathy but Root bathes in it. Root grabs hold of guilt and wears it on her back like a pilgrim on a mission to God. But Root's God is no where to be found, and the only one capable of easing her worry is lying in the bed next to her.

With a shaky smile, Root eases into her next question. The words feel reluctant, as though they were climbing out of her mouth with a pickaxe and rope. "You told them about me. About my implant."

For a moment, Shaw's cheeks light up in anger--that wasn't a question, it was an accusation. She is angry Root would doubt her, though she had every reason to. But a sharp stare into her eyes reveal that Root is not accusing her of anything, Root is haunted by something Shaw does not yet understand.

She curses herself, her oblivious nature, her lack of understanding -- she had never thought of Root's pain. Shaw was the prisoner of war, but Root was the one waiting for her at the shore.

"I was confused," Shaw explains. In her head, she pictures the fuzzy image of a woman handing her a cell phone and telling her to call for help. She remembers thinking she doesn't need help, but maybe it would be pretty cool if Root were there with her. So she dialed the number and asked for help. "I thought it was you. I _wanted_ it to be you. And she... it doesn't matter now."

Root is not hesitant anymore. "It matters to me," she says.

"Yeah, well, a lot of things matter to you."

"What matters to you, Sam?" she asks instead, quick as a button. Shaw's insensitivity has never fazed Root before.

Shaw doesn't appreciate Root forcing her hand. She knows that Root is fishing for answers, but just for tonight, Shaw feels inclined to share. "You," she starts, and watches the grin grow on Root's soft face. "Bear. Saving the world. And the boys, I guess."

"You're just going to get over all of this, aren't you?" Root asks. Shaw's questioning brow prompts Root to elaborate. "Something bad happened, but it's over now, and you're just going to move on--nothing's changed."

Shaw thinks on it for a moment, then nods. "Yeah, probably."

"I wish I could be like you."

Shaw shakes her head. "You and me like we are... it works. You need me to be like this."

Root squints up at her questioningly. She gets the feeling she won't get an explanation though as Shaw turns her head away. Not that she needs one--Root understands every implication. Sameen Shaw does not have a way with words, but Root has a way with Sameen Shaw and she could write novels with the meaning she plucks from between her silences.

Shaw understands her purpose now, as she shifts Root's body to line up her back to Shaw's front and pulls her in close. She ignores Root's protest, and instead buries her face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her.

"You can't just get me to shut up by cuddling," Root mutters.

Shaw raises an eyebrow. "No? Seems like it's working to me."

Root pouts. "Hmh."

There's a comfort, she realizes. The way Root knows what she means even before Shaw does herself. Root connects Shaw to a world that has never accepted her before, a world of feeling and emotion from which she has always been excluded. As she settles into the pattern of Root's heartbeat, she finally understands the other woman as a looking glass to a world she can only see through her.

Shaw is silent as Root’s body sags ever so slightly, her breathing evens out as she falls asleep against Shaw’s side. Shaw is careful as she slips away from the bed, drawing the covers back over Root’s sleeping form. She longs to stay by Root’s side, to pretend the world isn’t falling to pieces around them, but Root has always been so much better at self delusion.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, unheard.


End file.
